


Just Out Of Reach

by reellifejaneway



Series: Kathea Hawke [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 3, Angst and Feels, Assassination Attempt(s), Drowning, F/M, Heavy Angst, Original Character Death(s), Temporary Character Death, possible trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had watched her from a distance – so close, even when they were fighting side by side, she always seemed just out of reach. He’s always told himself that she’s safer without him. But after the loss of her mother, then duelling the Arishok, Hawke is feeling the oppression of spending three years alone. Now Hawke’s eyes are wandering and Fenris begins to question his decisions...</p><p>Just when Hawke and Fenris finally confront each other, vengeful shadows from her past reemerge — and this time, they are out for Hawke’s blood. Will Fenris finally act to save her? Or will his fear cost the life of the one woman in Thedas he’s ever loved? </p><p>A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3548402">To Prove Her Point</a>, and be warned, this one is angsty! Fenris and the world of Thedas all belong to Bioware. Kathea Hawke in all her craziness belongs to me. I’m just a fangirl who can’t let go...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Out Of Reach

“ _Fasta vass_!”

The empty bottle careened from an open fist, slamming against the stone wall just across the way. The sound of glass shattering and tinkling against the ground sent painful shudders up his spine. Clenching fingers clad in steel talons, he relished the prick of sharp metal against his skin. Pain. That’s what he needed. And yet…

 _It_ _’s not enough._

Gritting his teeth, he took another swig from a newly opened bottle of red wine, leaning back against the cold wall behind him with a half-hearted grunt. The alley was dank, confined and dirty, but right now it offered him the privacy he needed. The moonlight filtered in through broken slats above him, the cool night air occasionally swelling around him as the docks breeze swept in with the early morning tide.

Why could nothing block out this damned ache?

His chest constricted once more as his thoughts drifted back to that moment in the Hanged Man just a few hours before.

Hawke had looked so infuriatingly calm and yet, so darned _reckless._ He could still remember hearing the sound of Kathea’s laughter when she had won that game of Wicked Grace, her rust-red curls tumbling across her shoulders when she stretched and stood. Even now, intoxicated as he was, he could feel the brush of her hair against his shoulder. Void take it, he could still smell her. It was as though she had followed him to the alley in spirit and was tormenting him even now, hours after she…

_…After she had her way with the Knight Captain._

Ser Cullen, of all people. He knew the two Fereldens had always been friends, even if they had disagreed in the past. But to see Kathea Hawke’s golden eyes soften for the Templar, her hands caress his jaw so tenderly, her fingers comb through his hair, her lips claim Cullen’s with a passion that he had once thought was his alone. He had even followed her, watching as she had stood upon the doorstep with Cullen, talking so comfortably with him in the darkness.

He hadn’t waited to see if the Templar had stayed the night. Instead he had skulked away, dragging himself into this hideous corner of Kirkwall so that he could indulge in self-loathing.

The elf balled his fists tighter, ignoring the sting of talons piercing his skin. Blood trickled down his tanned palms but he ignored it. Curses tumbled from his lips as he lashed out with the other bottle, sending it across the cobblestones with an explosion of crimson glass.

“Fenris?”

A velvety voice drew him from his alcohol-fuelled pity, but only for a moment. As soon as his bloodshot eyes landed on a swarthy figure, bandanna-wrapped hair and the faint shimmer of gold, Fenris let out a groan.

“What in the void are you doing back here?” Isabela stepped closer, the soles of her thigh-length boots crunching against the fragmented remnants of his last bottle. “And you shattered a perfectly good bottle of 9:21 red?” The pirate shook her head dolefully, “What _were_ you thinking?”

“Whatever it was, it didn’t involve you,” Fenris seethed, the words hissed out through gritted teeth.

“Now, Kitten,” Isabela tutted and drew a bottle from behind her back, “don’t turn away company until you’ve seen all they have to offer.”

The silver-haired elf scoffed at first, biting back a scathing retort. But after a moment, even he couldn’t quite conceal the drift of his olive irises toward the slender bottle she held in hand. “You brought me wine,” he observed.

“Well spotted. Now perhaps we can drink it before you obliterate this bottle too?” The pirate popped the cork and took a hearty swig before passing it to him. As he let the burning, spiced liquid warm him once more, Isabela added, “I’ve seen you two, you know.”

 _Venhedis._ Fenris nearly choked. That resentful glare reclaimed pride of place, even as the woman leaned back against the wall beside him. Suddenly he found himself wishing Isabela would return to her old habit of interrogating him about the colour of his smalls. His lips curled into a snarl. “Is this the part where you offer to help ‘ease my agony’?”

“I’m not blind, Kitten. Nor _completely_ heartless.”

“That’s a revelation indeed.”

Isabela chose to ignore that remark. “You stare at her like a forlorn puppy. It’s really quite sickening.”

“So that was your plan?” Fenris growled, glaring at the bottle suspiciously. “To liquor me up and pry the information from my alcohol addled mind?”

“Oh please. You’ve been _permanently_ drunk these past three years.” The pirate rolled her eyes and snatched back the bottle. “You and Hawke can’t just keep on dancing around each other, Fenris. She isn’t going to wait around forever.”

“Clearly.” The elf shot her a murderous look. “There is nothing you could tell me that I do not already know.”

“Oh then I suppose that you already know that Hawke and Ser Cullen were simply putting on a show for you tonight? Of _course_ you knew that.” Isabela shrugged and turned toward the docks. “Suit yourself. It’s your loss, after all.”

Fenris let his head loll back against the cold, biting stone. His eyes drifted skyward, a silent curse rolling through his mind at Rivaini’s words. Waiting until she was a silhouette against the mouth of the alley, he finally confessed in a whisper, “I cannot ask it of her.”

Isabela paused, glancing back over her shoulder. For several moments, she said nothing. Then, “I’m planning on a walk around Lowtown later. Might take Hawke shopping for a hat or something. You know, take her mind off things. If you’re not entirely hung over or brooding at the world in general, perhaps you would like to join us?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Striding past her, Fenris simply pushed the bottle of wine back into the pirate’s hands. Pausing and turning briefly on his heel, sharp features silhouetted against the dawn, he murmured, “Nine?”

“I’ll meet you at the Hanged Man.”

With a stiff nod, the white-haired elf promptly disappeared into the mist.

 

* * *

 

 

Hawke woke with a jolt, her mind slowly waking to the raucous sound of a gloved fist pounding at her bedroom door. Cracking open one bleary eye, the redhead surmised that it was, in fact, past sunrise. Her shutters - which she apparently had flung open during the night - were letting in a pale stream of pink light.

 _Correction._ Barely _sunrise._

Groaning, Kathea turned her face further into her pillow. Ever since her mother’s death, the Hawke estate had been so painfully quiet, so achingly empty - especially early in the morning. Sometimes Kathea would stir to old memories of her mother making breakfast in the kitchen of their cottage in Lothering. The ghost of a smile would grace  Leandra’s beautiful face as she paused her cooking to smile at her eldest daughter. But then Kathea would come back to herself, alone, hungover and cold in her grand room, fire burnt down to embers. Bodhan was usually the one to rouse Kathea after a long night at the Hanged Man. But this time the knock wasn’t the gentle rap she’d come to associate with the smiling dwarf. No, this was _pounding,_ a staccato rhythm in time with the drum that raged furiously in her skull…

“Open this door, Hawke,” an overly cheery voice called, making the redhead burrow deeper beneath her downy bedclothes.

 _Not for all the gold in Thedas._ She pulled her blankets up and over her ears.

Isabela wasn’t about to give up. She rapped again, declaring, “If you don’t open this door, I’ll just have to force my way in.”

Kathea snorted. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” the pirate returned in a sing-song voice, adding, “and I know you sleep naked.”

Hawke bolted upright, swatting her wild red curls out of her eyes. “I do not!” She huffed, stumbling out of bed and reaching for her robe. Padding over to the door and flinging it open, the rogue slurred, “Izzy you tease. I only sleep _mostly_ naked.”

“Got you out of bed didn’t it? Not that I’d mind of course. I’ve always wanted to pick your bedroom lock.” The mischievous rogue held out a glass of suspiciously dark liquid. “Here. You’ll need this.”

Kathea took the glass, standing dumbly in the doorway and staring down into it blankly. After a moment, she tapped a nail against the cup’s rim, grimacing at the dull echo it returned. “What are you trying to do, Izzy? Poison me?”

“Hawke darling, if I wanted to poison you, I’d do it with much more finesse.” Isabela smirked and crossed her gold-adorned arms. “Well?”

The redhead moaned something incomprehensible. Holding up one open palm in a motion for silence, she took a cautious sip of the suspect hangover remedy. Then, without warning, she threw her head back and downed it in one shot.

Isabela’s brows arched in disbelief. “Andraste’s tits, woman, not even my first mate could drink a whole glass of that tar without wretching.”

Kathea slammed the glass down on the sideboard with a resounding _thunk_ , her gold eyes glowering up at the pirate in _that_ stare. The very one that could send chills up a spine and simultaneously threaten the receiver with serious bodily harm. “Please tell me you did not just drag me out of bed to make me drink putrefied molasses for your personal amusement.”

Laughing mahogany eyes met murderous gold ones. “Of course not, darling. I come bearing _other_ gifts. Or, well, I will once I buy them for you.”

“Buy them for me?” Hawke shook her head, sending that mass of rust curls flying about her shoulders. “Look I already told you how I feel about visiting the Rose. I already said I didn’t —”

“Hats.”

Hawke blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hats, Hawke. _Hats._ ” The pirate pushed past her into Hawke’s room. With a few strides of her long, tan legs, she had reached Kathea’s wardrobe and thrown the door wide open. “See? Not a single decent piece of head-wear to be seen. Do you even _own_ a hat - or do you prefer to leave your face as an open invitation to freckles?”

Without so much as a flinch, Hawke returned, “I prefer to think of it as a blank canvas. Are you seriously standing in my bedroom at four in the morning asking me about _millinery?_ ”

“No, darling, I’m doing this purely out of the kindness of my heart. I’m a giver you know.” Isabela rolled her eyes, shaking her head in clear violation of her last statement. “Actually I’ve come to take you on a little adventure.”

“Uh oh.”

“Oh shush. Now, I discovered a little shop down in the Lowtown market yesterday. A milliner would you believe? And he had this utterly _ridiculous_ hat in the window - large as a ship’s sail and a vile red feather to boot—”

Kathea shook her head, her eyes tracking the articles of clothing that were flying across the room. “And that is why you are ransacking my wardrobe?”

Isabella completely ignored that statement. She was far too busy randomly tossing the contents of Kathea’s dresser onto her bed, briefly appraising each garment as it went.

“—And I thought that if I am to buy a proper Captain’s hat, I would need a second opinion after all. So here I am.” The lascivious buccaneer shot a cocky grin in the other rogue’s direction, discarding a linen blouse away with an amused smirk. “Recruiting, if you will.”

Thankfully for Hawke, a majority of her wardrobe was either leathers or pants, so Isabella paid them little heed. Well, that is until she came across a pair of red panties. The pirate paused, dangling the suspect garment from one finger, only relenting when Hawke dived forward to snatch the smalls away from the rogue’s devious gaze.

“Hawke darling I _really_ need to take you to that little lingerie shoppe in the market square…”

 _“Focus_ , Izzy.” Kathea stuffed the panties into her robe pocket, that glare resurfacing. “Hats, remember?”

“Well?” Isabela prompted again.

There was another long pause, then with a weary sigh, “I’ll come on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“We buy matching.”

If the foul tasting tar-drink hadn’t been enough to wake Hawke’s sleep dazed senses, then the laugh that swelled from the pirate’s lips certainly did the trick. “I know! We’ll get you a Cavalier, with a peacock feather I think. Sapphire hues to match your tattoo. You’ll be the envy of Hightown!”

Kathea flinched, lifting a hand to her head to try and ease the dizziness. She could see the ensemble already: a long blue coat, tightly laced corset and the most absurd hat she could envision. If she wasn’t a comical enough sight as it was…

Resigning herself to her fate, Kathea reached for her leathers. “At least let me put some pants on before you parade me through Kirkwall in costume?”

 

* * *

 

 

Fenris was leaning against the exterior mud brick wall of the Hanged Man, kicking a pebble absently and scowling out at the early-morning market goers. He had been here since the mist lifted from the murky harbour. It was now nearly ten, the sun was warming the city, and Isabela and Hawke had yet to make an appearance.

He muttered something ugly in Tevene under his breath, before sending the offending pebble skittering across the cobbled street with one particularly fierce kick. A little boy paused across the way, sending him a questioning glance through big brown eyes. Fenris arched his shoulders menacingly, watching in thinly-veiled amusement as the child scuttled away after his mother.

Frustration had long since set in. Rising from his position and rolling his stiff shoulders, Fenris set off toward the markets a few streets away. Surely they couldn’t have taken _this_ long just to buy hats.

Rounding a particularly gaudy trinket stall, he finally spotted them.

At first all Fenris could make out was a pair of broad-rimmed hats bobbing towards him. Then he spotted a glint of gold jewellery, and Hawke’s auburn curls.

 _Fasta vass._ What _was_ she wearing?

The two rogues strode through the crowd like a pair of self-satisfied buccaneers. Kathea’s fur-lined Ferelden leathers were a stark contrast to the ostentatious velvet hat that perched so precariously upon her head. A long blue feather curled up about the brim, only drawing his focus down to the sapphire tattoo which curled about her right eye. The azure tone reminded him of the waves that lapped at the edges of the wharfs just yonder. A witty remark was shared between the two women and those topaz irises sparkled with mirth. But then, as her gaze settled upon his, Kathea’s happiness seemed to wane.

“Fenris.” She paused, shooting a sideways glance at the dark-haired pirate beside her. “I didn’t realise we were going to have company…?”

Isabela shrugged, feigning ignorance. “Don’t give me that look, Hawke darling—”

“—I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t _wish_ to be,” Fenris interrupted, folding his arms and directing a piercing stare at Kathea.

“That’s a new one,” she retorted, eyes flashing. “Is that why you followed me home last night?”

Fenris grit his teeth, taking a lunging step into Hawke’s personal space. “Do not treat me like a fool, Hawke. We both know what you were doing.”

“Oh do we now?” Kathea took a retaliatory step into his space. “Because it seems to me you haven’t known what _you_ were doing these past three years, let alone cared about my welfare.”

Isabela took a hurried step back, laughing nervously. “I’ll just take your hat and remove myself to a safe distance, shall I? Before you two turn all wraith-like on each other…?”

The pair barely acknowledged Izzy’s absence. They were too busy circling each other. Kathea’s topaz eyes burned into Fenris’ emerald ones, glinting stone-cold on the surface, but their barely-restrained anger boiling dangerously just beneath the surface. Anger, jealousy - and maybe a touch of lust - all threatening to erupt at any moment.

“You can’t control me, Fenris,” Kathea hissed, her gloved hands fisted by her sides. “You gave up your right to me the night you walked out.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

“Obviously!” The redhead snapped, “You haven’t been ready for _years_ , Fenris. Years! I waited for you; I helped you track down Hadriana; I was there for you when you needed me to be, and how did you repay me? Damn it, I even helped you kill Danarius! The magisters could have threatened my life to get to you and you probably _still_ couldn’t realise what everyone else apparently seems to.”

“I was protecting you!” Fenris only stood a few inches taller than her, and yet he did his utmost to utilise his advantage. Glowering down at Kathea past dark brows, he growled, “That was a very real threat, Hawke. Danarius would have found you. He would have hurt you. The Hunters would have used you to trap me had they known what—” Fenris stopped suddenly, his lips pinching and face blanching uncharacteristically.

Kathea leaned forward, her anger simmering in her gaze. “Known _what,_ Fenris? Known that you had used me, abandoned me? Left me alone for three years to relive your rejection every night?”

The words danced on the tip of his tongue and Fenris sucked in a shaky breath. He could not say it. _I cannot ask it of her._ Memories of his nightmares gripped him again, sending a chill through his body. The thought of Kathea being held captive, being hurt or worse… Night after night Fenris had been tormented by visions of her at Danarius’ mercy - bound, crippled and bleeding to feed the Magister’s magic. And he, weakened by the sight of her pain, had sunk helplessly to his knees, willingly sacrificing his freedom for hers. Every night he had awoken shaking and coated in an icy sweat, screaming her name at the walls.

Now she stood before him, demanding answers. Answers he could not bear to utter.

How could Hawke understand that he had pushed her away for her own safety? She was better off without him. At least, that was what he kept trying to convince himself. If Danarius had ever truly known what she meant to him…

Fenris took a painfully deep breath, willing himself not to get lost in her burning gaze.

_I could not ask that of you._

The two were so deeply embroiled by this point that neither noticed the crowd that had begun to gather. Market-goers were standing in a cluster, gawking and whispering among themselves. Even without her Champion armour, Hawke was a distinctive character. Hushed whispers about ‘the Champion’ were spreading through the assemblage. To add to the scene, a group of curious patrons from the Hanged Man had overheard the commotion and were spilling out into the street. Isabela nervously shifted from foot to foot. Any moment now the City Guard would notice the disturbance, and Maker save her if Aveline showed up.

Varric chose that moment to sidle up beside Isabela. “What’s going on here?”

“I really have no idea.” The pirate cocked her hip and grinned. “But whatever it is, it’s _hot._ _”_

A snort announced Ander’s presence. “We quit a perfectly good round of Wicked Grace to come watch these two deal with their latent attraction?”

Varric dealt him a swift elbow to the side. “Shush, Blondie! I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.”

“Hawke—” Fenris’ gauntleted hand shot out and grasped her by the forearm.

Jerking away from him with a snarl, Kathea bit out, “Don’t touch me!” She backed away, glancing cagily at the onlookers surrounding them. “I am not yours Fenris. You can’t keep me locked away from the eyes of every other man who breathes!” Hawke turned her back on him and began to stalk away, the crowd murmuring as they parted for her.

Fenris’ lip curled into a barely-restrained snarl, calling after her, “If you must know, I saw a man follow you from the Tavern.”

Kathea heaved a weary sigh. Pausing mid-step, she turned and replied, “Yes that would be _Ser Cullen._ You know, the one who actually wanted to pay me attention?”

A firm shake of his head, a tensing of his jaw - Fenris moved after her, pausing only when he was once again within her space. At this distance he could talk more quietly, perhaps quietly enough that the crowd would not hear. “To the damned Void with your stubbornness, Hawke!” The elf clenched his fists once more, doing his utmost to ignore her tantalising proximity - and the faint fragrance of rose oil. “There was _another_ man. I saw him trail you to Hightown before reporting back to the docks.”

Kathea rolled her eyes. “And I suppose you would forbid me from having a secret admirer too?”

“If that secret admirer just happens to carry daggers, then yes!”

Hawke hesitated then. Those arching brows furrowed in confusion. “Daggers…?”

She blinked, trying to piece together what she had just heard. Naturally Kathea had not seen the mercenary - she had been focused on Ser Cullen, her rogue senses dulled by the Hanged Man’s ale. She had assumed Fenris had followed her home because of her behaviour with Cullen. Not because he was trying to watch somebody else entirely…

She was so lost in thought that Kathea barely noticed when the crowd began to take tentative steps back, leaving them isolated in the centre of the road.

Isabela stepped in then. “Uh, Hawke darling…”

“Not now, Izzy.” Kathea tilted her head questioningly. “Are you saying you saw a _mercenary_ follow me home that night?”

It was then that she saw that Fenris’ shoulders had stiffened, his wide eyes wandering just beyond her and toward the docks. “Hawke—”

“Hawke!” Isabela’s hand grasped her shoulder tight. Too tight.

Kathea froze when Varric and Anders slowly moved to join them, searching her friends’ faces and realising that something was terribly wrong. They were all staring past her, bodies tensed. When Anders’ hand reached for the grip of his staff, Kathea braced herself.

Turning slowly with a mask of false calm, the redhead took in a chilling sight.

A group of heavily armed mercenaries had formed a curved line between her and the docks, their crimson tunics and leather-wrapped hands instantly identifying them.

_The Red Iron._

Their hands were at the ready, armed with shining blades; their faces were twisted with cold determination. It was when a man pushed through the line to stand before her that Hawke froze.

She knew that wicked smile anywhere.

It was her old master, the mercenary Kathea had served for a year to earn sanctuary for her family in Kirkwall. The man who had sent her to kill a fellow Ferelden. The man whose gold she had refused — and who in turn had sworn vengeance. Now it would seem that the hour had come.

A chill rushed through her.

“Meeran.”

“Well if it isn’t the Champion of Kirkwall.” Meeran sneered at her from where he stood, just a few feet away. “It isn’t often we have the chance to meet such an esteemed lady of title, now is it boys?”

The group behind him let out a chorus of rude words and cat calls. Fenris let out a quiet hiss behind her, but Kathea held out her hand low, an subtle indication for him to hold his position - and his temper.

“You sent that assassin to follow me,” Hawke growled, subtly shifting her feet so she was ready to move at short notice. “I didn’t think you would be so brazen, Meeran. A fight in the middle of the street, and in broad daylight no less? The Iron _I_ remember was much more subtle.”

“And you would remember too, wouldn’t you?” The grey-haired merc leered down at her then, “The glory days, Hawke - I remember how fast you were, how quickly you would finish a job. How many of your Hightown suitors know that about you, Hawke? How many people know that you were a blade for hire? That you used to survive off the gold that _I_ gave you?”

Varric snickered. “’The fool droned monotonously’.”

“Isn’t that how everyone starts working for you, Meeran?” She arched a brow sarcastically. “Begging for food on the docks until you just happen to offer them a job? How benevolent of you.”

“Shall I keep notes?” Isabela leaned forward and whispered in earshot of Varric.

“Not yet. Wait until Hawke makes him really angry.” The dwarf folded his arms and smirked. “She’s just getting warmed up.”

Meeran, however, was not quite so amused. He stared Kathea down furiously, his anger only growing when she refused to flinch. “You owe me, Hawke. You owe me everything.”

“Not unless you managed to procure a potion that could turn me into a dragon,” Kathea retorted like rapid fire. Glancing around the group, holding out her hands nonchalantly, “What, nothing? Pity. I was rather looking forward to that.”

A few members of the Red Iron snorted with laughter, only to fall deathly silent when Meeran turned his withering glare on them. A few mumbled curses later and the mercs readied their weapons.

“You know why I’m here, Hawke.” Meeran reached for his daggers. “You crossed me one time too many. Nobody crosses the Red Iron.”

“Of course not,” Kathea quipped. “And when they do, you send _me_ to deal with them.”

Varric and Isabela chuckled, but the mirth was short lived.

Hawke saw Meeran’s shoulders flex, his fingers clutching the knives’ hilts a fraction tighter.

The fool had made his choice.

“And here we go again.” Kathea drew her daggers and whispered, “Isabela, Fenris, with me.”

“Stab first, ask questions later?” The pirate’s eyes lit with excitement.

Hawke shot Izzy a cunning smile. “That’s the general idea.” Then, letting out an unholy cry, Kathea plunged into the fray.

A brilliant flash of silver swept past Kathea’s nose and she ducked to the side, narrowly missing Meeran’s first swipe. Their blades met less than a second after she recovered, steel ringing out with a murderous chime that sent tingles of terror and excitement up Hawke’s spine. Finding her footing, the Ferelden rogue launched into the air and knocked the older man back onto the ground.

Meeran let out a breathless grunt, rolling to miss the axe-like blade that struck and rang out against the stone beside him. He blocked her next move with his notched dagger, hissing, “You’re getting sloppy, Hawke!”

Kathea grunted and spun back in time to dodge a lunge from another Iron assassin. Risking a glance to the side, she smiled as Fenris charged past her, a blur of lyrium-charged light and rage. But now was not the time for distractions. Her own anger at the elf aside, finding a dagger in her throat was hardly an appealing way to spend the rest of her life.

Besides. She’d just bought a new hat.

Hawke took advantage of Meeran’s brief disadvantage to cloak herself in mist, smashing a vial of potent smoke to blind her foes. She didn’t call herself a Shadow for nothing.

 _They can_ _’t hurt what they can’t see._

The mercenaries around her began to cough and stumble, and Kathea - used as she was to the pungent fog - struck them down with ease. Blows to the back, through the ribs, down the chest, across a vulnerable throat - her daggers flashed and danced with death, piercing leather and skin alike, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. The hiss of metal slicing through the air was addictive. And she knew better than anyone that while death was never the best option, sometimes it was the only one left.

She also knew it would only be a matter of moments before the other rogues in the party would begin to pick up on her strategy. Hawke could only maintain her routine for so long before it would become painfully apparent.

And there were _so many of them._

“I didn’t order more!” Kathea shouted as another group of mercs dropped from the rooftops above. “Where are they coming from?!”

An icy wind slammed against her back. Anders had moved to fight beside her, his eyes shining a terrifying shade of blue. “Persist!” The mage bit out, throwing up a barrier around his lean form. “I will distract them!”

Nodding, Hawke swung back into action. Her strong arms locked around one man’s neck, twisting his head to the side and snapping the vertebrae. Throwing the body forward she managed to catch another, knocking him to the ground beneath the weight of his dead comrade. A knife to the neck finished him off. Spinning, ducking, _flying_ \- she felt weightless. Relentless. Unstoppable.

To her right and left they fell. A rain of arrows descended from above. Others were frozen by magic, some were crushed beneath Fenris’ fist, more still bleeding out on the pavement from the daggers she and Isabela wielded with such ease.

After a few minutes, Hawke’s companions, at first seriously outnumbered, suddenly found themselves evenly matched. Their backs to the docks, the rising sun on their shoulders, Hawke’s companions stood strong. They had barely taken more than a few scratches between them. The Red Iron weren’t so lucky: only Meeran and four other mercenaries remained standing. They were bloodied, wounded, but determined. And they weren’t about to back down. Even as Kathea indicated for her companions to fall back behind her and regroup, Meeran whispered orders to his men.

“Last chance, Meeran!” Hawke rolled her shoulders, relishing the brush of soft fur against her grime-smeared skin. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

The leader of the Red Iron paused, a dangerous smile creeping across his weathered face. “You’re right,” he murmured, “it doesn’t.”

That was when it happened.

Kathea sensed it a moment before it was too late - the kiss of wind, the scent of smoke, the creep of a hand as it melded against her neck. An assassin, wreathed in shadow as only the masterful knew how, had unveiled directly behind her. A cry of warning rose in her throat - stifled, choked. The hiss of metal scraping metal, the thrust of a strong arm and the giving way of leather all marked her doom. Then her breath seized in her lungs. The assassin pulled her head back at the same moment the dagger penetrated her skin, angling up through her lower ribs and piercing deep — too deep. Kathea’s vision seared white, her agonised scream dying on her tongue.

Somewhere beyond, she heard screaming. Nearly blind with pain, Hawke stumbled in her desperation. Hands pinned her arms by her sides, a vice grip forcing her to loosen her hold upon her weapons. She was too weak to fight it now. Each gasp degenerated into choking, fluid rising in her lungs and burning her every breath.

 _No. No!_ This couldn’t be happening! Panic lanced through her, colder than the steel that was still firmly lodged in her chest. _I can_ _’t… It’s too much… Fenris…_

A sardonic laugh tore through the air, a sign of Meeran’s resounding victory.

She had failed them. All of them. Her father, Carver, Bethany, her mother… One by one she had been forced to watch them die, forced to watch them be led away to a life of imprisonment, helpless to save them. And now it was her turn. Why fight it? She had always known her end would come someday.

But she never thought it would be like this.

Hawke forced her eyes open, her knees giving way as she stared up into the hazy sky.

_Is this how it feels to die?_

She felt… Alone.

The world around her spun. Her captor was pulling her, dragging her, and she let him. Her body was heavy - she couldn’t even raise her head. Kathea’s pain ebbed into icy cold, then into numbing emptiness. Her breathing was too much effort. She could barely think let alone cry out. But there was one word that lingered on her tongue, one name that she wanted so desperately to scream into the void if there was even the _faintest_ chance that he might hear her…

She gave one last weak cry as the assassin heaved her up, holding her by the throat over an abyss. Hawke’s vision swam, her mind screaming as she realised that she was suspended on over the edge of the walkway, the wall dropping clear away into the murky harbour water.

_Fenris!_

She was staring death in the face, watching as black hands rose from the water, reaching to claim her, to drag her down into its depths.

_Fenris, please!_

And then Kathea felt a hard shove — she was falling.

Her mouth opened in a wordless scream before the abyss engulfed her.

Sinking, her hand stretched upward even as the weight of her armour dragged her under and down, down toward the bottom of the bay. Kathea’s lungs heaved, sucking in bitter water. She choked, clawing at the emptiness around her.

 _Let it come,_ a voice whispered from the corner of her failing mind. _Why fight it? Embrace it. Let it come._

She was Hawke. She didn’t give up. Hawke worked up one last burst of desperate energy, lashing out against the water.

But it couldn’t last.

The last thing Kathea saw was the sun - its waning glow her last beacon of hope - slipping further out of reach. For a moment she thought she saw a streak of light illuminate the surface, bursting above her into brilliant glory. But it was little more than a blur through the darkness. Giving in, Hawke let the cold claim her. Her eyes began to dim, her final moments sealed by the sight of her life’s blood rising, swirling ominously in the water above her…

And one last word, one name, forever lingering on her drowning lips:

_Fenris._


End file.
